A flashy would-be lady, bustling up to the spring with her little daughter, burst into a loud laugh at the remark of an acquaintance.

“Mamma!” said Miss, tempering severity with benign dignity,—­“you must not laugh so loud.  It’s vulgar.”

Her mother lowered her tone, and looked subdued.  Miss turned to a companion, and said, gravely,—­

“I have to speak to her about that, often.  She don’t like it,—­but I must correct her!”

A little girl—­a charming, old-fashioned, real child—­came into the summer-house a few minutes ago, and I gave up my writing to watch her.  After some coy manoeuvring about the door, she drew nearer and nearer to me, as if I were a snake fascinating a pretty bird.  Her tongue seemed more bashful than the rest of her frame; for she came within arm’s-length, let me catch her, draw her to me, and hold her close to my side.  A novel sensation of fondness for the little thing made me venture—­not without some timidity, I confess—­to lay my hand upon her head, and pass it caressingly over her soft young cheek, meanwhile saying encouraging things to her, in hopes of hearing her voice and making her acquaintance.  She would not speak, but played with my buttons, and hung her head.  At last I asked,—­

“Don’t you want me to tell you a little story?”

Her head flew up, her great black eyes wide open, and she said, eagerly, “Oh, yes! that’s what I came for.”

“Did you?  Well, what shall it be about?”

“Why, about yourself,—­the prince who was half marble, and couldn’t get up.  And I want to see your black marble legs, please!”

If I had hugged an electrical eel, I could not have been more shocked!  I don’t know how I replied, or what became of the child.  I was conscious only of a kind of bitter horror, and almost affright.  But when Kate, a quarter of an hour afterwards, brought her book and sat down beside me, I could not tell her about it, for laughing.

The little girl is in sight now.  She is standing near the porch, talking to some other children, gesticulating, and shaking her curls.  Probably she was a deputy from them, to obtain a solution of the mystery of my motionless limbs.  They half believe I am the veritable Prince of the Black Isles!  They alternately listen to her and turn to stare at me; so I know that I am the subject of their confab.

Some one is passing them now,—­a lady.  She pauses to listen.  She, too, glances this way with a sad smile.  She comes slowly down the avenue.  A graceful, queenly form, and lovely face!  She has drunk of the waters, and is gone.

Mary, do you know that gentle girl has added the last drop of bitterness to my cup?  My lot has become unbearable.  I gnash my teeth with impotent rage and despair.

I will not be the wreck I am!  My awakening manhood scorns the thought of being forever a helpless burden to others.  I demand my health, and all my rights and privileges as a man,—­to work,—­to support others,—­to bear the burden and heat of the day!  Never again can I be content in my easy couch and my sister’s shady grove!